St Bart's Rooftop
by Anonymoose12
Summary: John is sick of Sherlock's idiocy, Sherlock is a little confused and very remorseful, and Hamish is adorably astute. Rated K because I'm uber-paranoid and I'm unsure as to what counts as a swear word.


John had run out of patients. It had been a more efficient day than usual and so he had finished early. Realising that Sherlock had probably struggled to keep Hamish entertained all day today, even with the plethora of experiments and bodies he could show their son, he decided to surprise them by meeting them at Barts and taking them out for dinner. Hamish could stay up later than usual as it was summer holidays and it would be nice to spend some time together as a whole family, without having to worry about bedtimes or cleaning up.

As John walked up to his partner's workplace, he felt a little nauseous- this was the exact same route he'd walked four years ago, before receiving Sherlock's 'note'. No. Not going there. Not remembering that. Not now. Despite his self-remonstrations he couldn't help but glance up at the roof of Bart's, only to be met with the most terrifying sight he could imagine. His son standing there, with Sherlock next to him. A wave of fear struck him immobile for a few infinite seconds, before he sprinted into action. Dashing manically up the stairs and forcibly throwing himself through the doors onto the roof John moved faster than he ever thought he'd be able to.

"SHERLOCK."

"John?"

"Daddy!"

"WHAT, EXACTLY, DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"

"Showing Hamish the surrounding area while we eat lunch. Obviously."

"HERE? You really think _here_ is a good place to do that?"

"John. That happened years ago. Surely you know it's not going to happen again?"

"Daddy, Papa wha-"

"_Not_ now Hamish. Sherlock, the point is not that I think it's going to happen again. The point is that it _did_ happen, and yes, it was four years ago but it still hurts. That was the worst bloody day of my life and this place brings that back.

"John… I-"

"Save it Sherlock. Come on Hamish, let's go."

"But dad-"

"Hamish, please" this was almost whispered, a pleading sorrowful tone in John's voice and eyes. Hamish let go of his papa's hand and walked over to his dad, wrapping his little arms around his legs.

"Daddy, what's wrong?"

"We'll explain later. Right now though, you and I are going to go home."

"Is papa coming?"

"Maybe later."

John and Hamishturned and left. Sherlock stood there alone, on the roof. The roof that kept coming between him and John. Maybe he shouldn't have brought Hamish up here but the boy needed to get used to heights and was obviously sick of being inside all day. And Sherlock himself had wanted to see how it felt to be back up here. Nothing really. Not guilt, not fear; a little remorseful maybe, but really John was being silly- it had happened three years ago. There were more important things to worry about now, in the present moment. Things like the fact that John and he had just had their biggest fight since Sherlock had first made it known to John that he was, in fact, alive. That was the only time, before today, when John had looked so…so… crushed. Yes, crushed was the word. Scared and angry, yes, he had looked that as well. Lost and heartbroken, like he had when he had begged Sherlock for 'one more miracle'. John had effectively told Sherlock that he didn't want him coming home, with the words 'maybe later' implying that Sherlock would possibly be coming home at a later date. That crushed Sherlock. The thought that his John didn't want him, couldn't love him right now, and the fact that Sherlock couldn't see his son, Hamish. His beloved Hamish. So like John but so like him as well. The only thought that gave Sherlock any hope was John's reply to Hamish's inquiry as to what was wrong: '_We'll_ explain later." That meant he expected Sherlock to be there to help explain. That was good. That gave him an excuse to go home soon- to help satisfy Hamish's curiosity. For now though, perhaps he'd go for a walk along the Thames.

"Daddy?"

"Yes Hamish."

"Why don't you love Papa anymore?"

"It's not that I don't love him Hamish. I love him, and you, very very much. It's just that right now I'm also very angry with him."

"Why?"

"A few years ago, before we got you, your Papa did something that hurt me a lot. Today he did something that reminded me of that, which made me frightened and worried, which in turn made me angry with him."

"Do you think you'll be angry with him long?"

"I don't know Hamish. I just don't know."

"Alright. I love you daddy."

"Goodnight son. Sleep well." John tucked Hamish in, turned on his nightlight and gently pulled his bedroom door nearly fully closed behind him as he slipped out.

Walking downstairs to make a cup of tea and curl up with a good book on the sofa, he wondered briefly if he had been too harsh on Sherlock. His partner still hadn't come home, and he was beginning to get worried. When he said 'maybe later' he had meant in an hour or two, not five. Would Sherlock have done something stupid? No surely not. He would simply have sulked somewhere, hopefully distracting himself with some sort of gruesome experiment, and would come home any minute. It was a bit of a surprise, then, to walk into the lounge area and discover that Sherlock had crept in whilst he was putting Hamish to bed.

"Hello John."

"Hello John? Hello John? That's what you decide to say to me?"

"What else would I say?"

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe something about what an awful person you are for doing what you did?"

"John. I made a mistake today, I can see that. It simply-"

"Save it Sherlock. I'm going to bed. I suggest you remain on the couch tonight." With those words John turned on his heels and retreated back upstairs, falling into bed and crying. He _hated_ fighting with Sherlock but the man could be insufferable sometimes.

Sherlock sat on the couch in confusion for a few moments- he had admitted to making a mistake, surely that was enough? He was startled out of his reverie by the tread of small footsteps on the stairs and a quiet voice from the doorway

"Papa?"

"Hamish" Sherlock opened his arms up, before wrapping them tightly around the small body that had projected itself across the room the moment his name had been spoken.

"Why did you hurt daddy years ago?"

"It's a long story, but I had to."

"Why?"

"Hamish, I promise I will tell you, but now is not the time."

They sat in silence for a few moments, the tall lanky figure wrapped around the little boy.

"Do you love daddy?"

"Of course I do Hamish, just like I love you. Why?"

"He's angry with you because you made him worry."

"Did I?"

"Yes. You upset him. You should say sorry."

"Should I?"

"Yes papa."

"Alright. I'll say sorry tomorrow."

"Say it now papa, that's better."

"But he'll be asleep now."

"He's not. I heard him crying."

"Daddy's crying?"

"Uh-huh." Hamish's face was split by a big yawn and Sherlock realised he was keeping him out of bed. He carried Hamish to bed and gently tucked him in, watching him fall asleep almost instantly.

Sherlock stood, unsure, in the hallway outside what used to be his room, but was now_ their_ room although currently only John was inside. Hamish was right, John was quietly sniffling into the pillows. Sherlock gently pushed the door open, and sat on the bed next to John's figure. John stilled, going silent. Sherlock reached out a hand and started gently rubbing circles on his back.

"John. I'm sorry. I didn't realise you would turn up early, and I certainly didn't realise it would affect you this way. I never meant to hurt you like that and I hope you realise just how much I love you."

"I know Sherlock. I know. I just… I was scared Sherlock. I was so terrified when I saw you and Hamish up there. It reminded me of when you were up there, when you fell, when you were gone, when I was alone. I missed you Sherlock. I missed you so damn much, and it was irrational but I was scared of feeling that again. Missing you that much again. Missing our son that much."

"I'm sorry John."

"Thanks Sherlock."

"I love you John."

"I know"

With that Sherlock changed into his pyjamas and slipped under the covers next to John, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him close.


End file.
